


A Fine Day to Die

by HeyMurphy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Sickfic, also this is NOT a character death fic, not specifically hank/connor as a ship but it can be read that way, they're very very close and hank loves him a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 01:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy
Summary: Connor runs a diagnostic to determine the source of his recent clumsiness and is met with some unfavorable news. Hank has a breakdown. What the hell are they gonna do?





	1. Chapter 1

It all started when he dropped his coin.

Markus and North had been arguing all evening about an invitation to appear on television, specifically on a late-night talk show. Something comedic, something humans enjoyed watching. North said it was beneath them and beneath their cause, but when Simon crunched the numbers to reveal just how many millions the show would reach, Markus found it difficult to refuse the invite.

North let all of them know, very loudly, that she disagreed. “The humans just want to make you into a joke,” she had said. “Something they can more easily dismiss.”

Connor retreated backwards towards Josh as he typically did when North went off, rolling the coin between his fingers. The action was essentially a mindless calibration exercise, just something to occupy his hands and give him a more human presence. Standing perfectly still was something humans found unnerving, apparently. He wondered, then, why he continued to perform this exercise even in front of other androids.

He didn’t realize what happened until he heard the coin hit the sheet metal flooring. His fingers hadn’t been deft enough. That didn’t seem right. He was always deft enough.

The coin landed on its edge and rolled away from him into the center of the makeshift meeting room. Connor bolted after it, but North was faster. Her shoe came down on the coin in one swift stomp and she glared at him coolly for a solid three seconds before moving her foot and allowing him to retrieve it.

North didn’t trust him. He supposed he couldn’t blame her given his history with CyberLife and the police. And it was this that consumed his thoughts for the remainder of the day, his error of reflexes forgotten.

The following morning he went to lean on the edge of the desk in Markus’ personal quarters and missed it entirely, staggering to correct his balance. He spent the next minute reassuring Markus that he was fine, and he didn’t think of it again.  

Then came the fall the next evening. The toe of Connor’s dress shoe caught just shy of the top step to Hank’s home, and he tripped, fell, and caught himself on the concrete. He rose to his feet to assess the damage. The skin on his palms was already closing up where he’d scuffed himself. No lasting physical harm done. He smoothed the front of his jacket and readjusted the tie at his throat.

How many times had he ascended those handful of steps without issue over the course of the last few weeks?

He didn’t knock on the door yet. Instead he stood there on the welcome mat and ran a diagnostic of his systems. It couldn’t hurt to be careful, he supposed. Ever since his choice to become deviant and to break away from CyberLife, he hadn’t been receiving regular maintenance or updates. His blinking grew erratic and he felt something whir to life in the back of his head, and all at once he was flooded with lightning-fast information. Processors checked and cleared. Memory secure. No signs of corruption in his software.

As the diagnostic moved into his biocomponents, the information slowed to a crunching crawl, and Connor noted the slight elevation of his core body temperature. That wasn’t good. Something was wrong.

A bark from within the house brought Connor back to the present. He let the diagnostic continue in the background.

“Sumo!” Hank called, sounding muffled and far away. Maybe in the kitchen. Probably drinking. “What’re you doing? Nobody’s out there!”

Connor had forgotten to knock. He did so, and Sumo’s barking persisted.

“Okay, okay,” said Hank. Now there were footsteps approaching. “Guess there is somebody out there. C’mon, Sumo, move. Go sit.”

The door creaked open and Hank’s beardy, familiar face peered through into the dark of night. Connor noted his porch light was burned out. “Hello, Lieutenant. It’s been three days since we’ve seen each other. I thought I might stop by and see how you were doing.”

“Checking up on me, huh? Fine, get in here.” Hank swung the door open the rest of the way and motioned for him to come in. The house hadn’t changed much, of course. Connor could taste the make-up of the air on the back of his tongue as he breathed in—mostly body odor and alcohol like always, though it seemed less sharp and offensive than he remembered it. Hank’s hair looked damp in the back, as if he had showered perhaps an hour before. That was good. Hank was caring for himself even without Connor to pester him.

Sumo finally couldn’t sit any longer and bounded up to Connor, happy to see him and begging for pets. Typically Connor navigated Sumo’s affections with perfect grace, always able to shift his balance in a way that kept him upright.

This time, things were different. Things felt different.

Sumo barreled into the back of his left knee and Connor started to topple. He had enough reaction time to grasp blindly at the nearest steady object, which turned out to be Hank. Thankfully Hank was only a few beers into the evening and managed to hold Connor steady. “Hey, hey. Easy, kid. Sumo, sit!”

Connor realized he was still standing the same moment he realized his fingers were curled in a death grip into the loose fabric of Hank’s sweatshirt. His pupils wouldn’t stay still. His mind whirred harder to the point that Connor worried Hank might hear. The diagnostic was taking much, much longer than it should have. Already he was noticing errors and alerts instructing him to connect to CyberLife immediately for tech support.

He couldn’t risk it. Not after Amanda’s little trick that nearly forced him to take Markus’ life. He had performed a scan after leaving the stage following Markus’ speech, curious if Amanda still existed within his software in some capacity, but found nothing. That portion of his programming appeared to be gone. And he hoped all traces of CyberLife’s control were gone as well.

He hadn’t divulged to anyone the details of Amanda or what he almost did because of her—not to Markus or Josh or anyone else from Jericho, not even to Hank. He tried not to think of it very much himself on the off-chance that dwelling on it too frequently would somehow reintroduce Amanda to his system. An irrational thought, he knew, but he was deviant now. Deviancy was irrational.

“ _Connor_.” Hank’s tone made Connor jump. “Jesus, you in there?”

“Yes.” Connor unclenched his fingers from Hank’s clothes and smiled in the hopes of avoiding his friend growing suspicious. How long had Hank been trying to get his attention? “Yes, sorry. He just caught me off guard, that’s all. I’m fine.”

If Hank found anything peculiar about Connor’s reply, he didn’t comment on it. “Well, okay. Come sit down then before Sumo bowls you over.”

Connor followed Hank into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. There were three empty beer bottles and one half full. Two Chinese take-out containers, freshly microwaved. A half dozen wadded-up receipts and a menu for Golden Panda. Wallet. Car keys. Cell phone. Loose change.

His core temperature was still rising. If this didn’t resolve itself soon he’d be at risk of overheating.

Hank sat across from Connor and nursed his beer. “Saw that Markus is gonna be on Fallon next week. That’s crazy. Gonna be one fucking weird interview.” He snorted with a bit of laughter and leaned back in the chair. A beat of silence passed between them. “Hey, Connor. Tell me something.”

Connor blinked more times than he meant to. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Okay, no. First things first, you call me Hank now, got it?”

“Yes, Hank.”

“Hey. Seriously. Are you okay?”

“Yes, Hank.”

Hank shot him a hard stare as he finished his beer, and Connor was concerned he might have recognized there was something off. Instead, Hank picked up the pair of chopsticks buried in the second take-out box and slurped up a mouthful of noodles. He chewed, swallowed, raised his eyes to meet Connor’s again, and sighed. “Anyway, I was gonna ask what you’ve been up to the past few days. You been with those androids the whole time?”

Connor nodded.

“Cool, uh—” Hank scratched his beard under his chin. “How was it? You, uh—you make any friends?”

The pound of North’s shoe replayed in Connor’s mind and he hoped he didn’t outwardly flinch. “Markus has tried his best to make me feel welcome, but some of them are hesitant to trust me. They believe I might still be under CyberLife’s control, or at the very least susceptible to their influence.”

Hank grimaced. “Well fuck whoever thinks that. CyberLife can’t just flick a switch and make you loyal to them again. You’re deviant now. You make your own choices.”

Panic stabbed through Connor’s chest, a bizarre burst of ice-cold electricity that left him temporarily stunned. He felt the need to take a deep breath, letting heat escape through his mouth. He had to tell Hank. Had to tell him everything. Someone else needed to know, to keep an eye on him, to make sure he didn’t do anything if Amanda came back. He didn’t want to close his eyes and see that garden ever again. His fingers twitched at the memory of those frigid winds biting at him through his blazer, of Amanda’s scowl partially obscured by the snow caught in his lashes.

Hank reached across the table and snatched his wrist. Connor gasped and pulled away, but he knew Hank had already felt the heat pulsing through his synthetic skin.

“Christ, Connor, what—what’s going on with you? You’re like a million miles away right now.”

Connor rose from his chair but the act of standing caused something to veer unpleasantly inside his head. His eyes spun, unable to focus on a single point, and he stumbled backwards into the wall much too hard. Hank was on his feet in an instant and rushed to Connor’s aid. Sumo started barking from the living room.

“I’m fine,” Connor said as Hank reached him and drew him in against his shoulder.

“No, you’re not. God, you’re burning up like a space heater.”

“I’m—” Connor gulped in another desperate breath.  “It’s just—it’s the diagnostic program.”

“Diagnostic program?” Hank helped him over to the couch and eased him gingerly across the cushions. “So you think you got a bug or something?”

“I’ll know once it’s complete.”

“And when will it be complete exactly? ‘Cause you’re kinda freaking me the fuck out.”

“I apologize,” said Connor, which earned a fretful grunt from Hank. “Currently I have no estimation for when this will be completed.” He already failed in his efforts not to alert Hank, and he definitely didn’t want to make things worse by admitting the program had frozen and stalled out minutes prior. Attempts to close the diagnostic were being met with errors directing him to CyberLife.

Hank hovered over the couch, his blue eyes remarkably sober despite the four beers. “And what am I supposed to do, huh? Just sit around and watch?”

“I am sorry, Lieutenant. Hank. I thought this process would be much simpler.”

“Ah, hell. Always gotta make me worry, don’t you?”

Hank disappeared into the kitchen and Sumo took his place. The big Saint Bernard sniffed at Connor, huffing dog breath into his face and dribbling drool onto his collar. Connor lifted his hand to give Sumo a pet but found he couldn’t quite reach him. His arm wavered at the strain until it dropped and hung limply, fingers brushing the carpet. Connor offered the dog a meek smile. “Later. I promise.” Sumo whined a bit and padded away to lay in his bed.

“Here we go,” said Hank. His knees cracked as he lowered himself to sit on the edge the coffee table, and Connor suddenly felt something icy and wet on his forehead. A cold compress. Hank was trying to take care of him. “Look, I don’t know jack shit about androids, but I know a fever when I see one. Not sure what else to do though besides give you some baby Tylenol and put cartoons on.”

Connor matched Hank’s sideways grin.

“I’m, uh—I’m gonna do some dishes.” Hank pushed up from the coffee table. “You just tell me if you need anything. And I mean anything, okay?”

Connor tipped his chin in a weak nod. “Okay.”

“Okay then.” Hank shifted his weight awkwardly as if he were unwilling to leave. “Yeah, okay.” He took a step backwards and then turned and went to the sink.

After a few minutes of listening to the soft hum of running water and the clink of plates and mugs, Connor itched for something to do. He thought of fishing his coin from his pocket but his arms at present were continuing to have issues. The cold compress did help for a short time, though as soon as he came to that conclusion the diagnostic ground to a halt again and the heat within him reached unsafe levels. He tried to sit up but his body didn’t respond. Error messages flashed and pressed and invaded every sensory input he had, pleading with him to seek out CyberLife. He shut his eyes against the errors and opened his mouth.

“Hank.”

The running water overpowered his voice, or what was left of it.

“Hank, can you—please—”

His systems were shutting down. The next time he attempted to call to Hank the only sound was a crackle and a high-pitched pop as his ability to speak cut out. He tried to open his eyes to see if Hank was coming. His eyes remained shut.

The noise of the sink stopped but there were no footsteps to suggest Hank was coming.

He couldn’t hear Sumo snoring either. Or the crickets outside.

He couldn’t—


	2. Chapter 2

“—fucking wake up! Right fucking NOW, Connor!”

Connor returned to cognizance slowly, cautiously, constructing his current situation piece by piece.

He was wet. Not just on his forehead, everywhere. And cold. And lying in a strange position. He registered the roar of the shower in Hank’s bathroom, and as he opened his eyes he also registered Hank leaning half into the shower himself, one knee on the ledge of the tub, his hands clutching hard at Connor’s upper arms.

Hank shook him fervently with all the tenderness of a jackhammer. “Connor, I swear to god if you don’t wake up I will FUCKING kill you!”

“I’m—”

“CONNOR!”

“I’m all right!”

Hank slowed his shaking to more of a gentle jostle and a rough sigh shuddered from his lips. “You’re all right. You’re all right. Jesus.” His head lolled forward, his gray hair soaked and hanging like curtains in front of his face. The hands on Connor’s arms tightened and Hank’s breath hitched.

Connor checked his systems. “Yes, everything seems operational again. It appears the diagnostic was able to complete during my reboot. How long ago did I cease function?”

Hank sniffled, let go of Connor, and swept his dripping hair out of his eyes. “Maybe twenty, thirty minutes?” he said, voice trembling. He cleared his throat. “Didn’t exactly check the clock. I thought you were fucking dead.”

Connor frowned. If he had been honest this wouldn’t have happened. Or at least Hank wouldn’t have been so upset. “I apologize for causing you so much stress, Hank.”

Hank was still sniffling and his eyes were blotchy and pink. He turned off the water. “Just don’t you dare do that again. Got it? I really thought—” He swallowed the words and didn’t continue. “Let’s get you outta this goddamn shower.”

Leaning on Hank for support, Connor stood on unsteady legs and lurched out of the tub. His loafers squelched and his shirt and slacks clung to him like plastic wrap. Once he was properly upright and balanced, he began peeling off his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt. Hank left for the bedroom and returned with a small stack of clothes.

“Hey, Connor?”

Connor paused, fingers at the button of his slacks. “Yes, Hank?”

“Are you gonna be all right now? I mean, is there anything that diagnostic picked up that I gotta worry about?”

Connor hadn’t explored the diagnostic report yet, but he did so then.

The results were…unexpected. And very unwelcome.

Connor put a hand to his chest in an attempt to slow his sudden sprinting pulse. So, that was CyberLife’s game. A backup plan for the backup plan.

Hank was still expecting an answer. He couldn’t tell him. No, not now. The poor man had just finished crying over him, and his mental health was already delicate at best.

“There was an issue,” said Connor carefully. “Just a miscalibration. It was dealt with.”

That did nothing to smooth the lines in Hank’s brow. He looked pained as he approached and shoved the change of clothes at Connor’s stomach hard enough that it rattled his thirium pump regulator. “Y’know what, kid? I’ve been alive for fifty-three years and I’m not made of fucking glass, okay? I know I’m not exactly a smart guy but I’d really love for you to quit hiding shit from me and just…let me know what’s going on. Would that really be the end of the world? If I knew what was going on with you? Just once?”

Something sharp and squirmy snaked its way through Connor’s system. He didn’t want Hank to feel this way, but wasn’t it preferable to him knowing the truth of the matter?

If Hank learned that Connor was going to die, would that really help anything?

Hank’s eyes bored into him. “Tell me the truth, son.”

“I am.” It was all Connor could think to say. “I told you, it was dealt with.”

Hank’s expression crumpled completely and his bearded chin trembled. “Holy shit. You’re really gonna stand there and lie to my face about this.”

“I’m not—”

“Your fucking LED flashes red when you lie to me, Connor.”

Connor opened his mouth to refute it, but there in the mirror, flickering in his peripheral vision, was the LED in his temple. Blood red. It lasted for another half second and then it switched to a steady yellow, and Connor wondered anxiously if it had been yellow all evening.

“Yeah,” Hank continued. “I’ve been trying not to let it get to me. Everybody lies and a man has a right to his secrets, y’know? But this? Really?”

“Hank—”

“Forget it. You want me to leave you alone? Fine. I’m going to bed.”

And Hank slammed the bathroom door on his way out.

 

* * *

 

Connor changed his clothes in silence and hung his dripping suit over the shower curtain to dry. Hank had lent him an old pair of DPD-issue sweatpants and a black t-shirt for a band apparently called Emperor. It was actually one of the more easily read band shirts in Hank’s possession. Connor ran his fingertips across his chest, feeling out the white of the design, and let his eyes drift closed.

He needed to talk to Hank. He had really fucked things up.

The door to the bedroom was shut and the light inside was out. Connor doubted that Hank was sleeping, though. He didn’t fall asleep that quickly unless he was dead drunk. Connor stood squarely at the door, right hand poised to knock, and then he heard something.

Crying.

It was so faint that a human ear might’ve neglected to catch it, but Connor registered the awful sound and it stirred the thirium in his veins. He opened the door without knocking.

Hank sat at the end of the mattress, head in his hands, and he made no indication that he noticed Connor’s entry. His whole body shivered and his stomach heaved with gasping, stifled sobs. Connor wanted him to stop so badly that he almost screamed it, but he kept himself under control and came to gently touch Hank on the shoulder.

Hank exploded like hot oil. His limbs worked in a frenzy to escape but he only succeeded in collapsing onto the floor, which is where he remained, red-faced and panting, glaring up at Connor with some bizarre mixture of shame and sadness and loathing. Whether the loathing was for himself or for Connor, it was difficult to tell.

“What’re you doing?” Hank wheezed, fruitlessly wiping at his eyes. The tears weren’t stopping. “Get the fuck outta my room.”

“You’re in extreme emotional distress,” said Connor. “And given your history, I felt I should—”

“Given my _what_?!” Hank scrambled to his feet and pushed hard against Connor’s chest, shoving him back like it was bar brawl. “You high and mighty fucking piece of shit, you’re gonna throw that in my face? Huh? You think I’ll shoot my goddamn brains out over you? Is that it?!”

Connor stayed put, not wanting to engage with his anger, but not knowing what to say to diffuse the situation. The most sophisticated android ever created and still everything he said and did to Hank seemed to elicit an unforeseen response. He thought he had done the man a favor by not coming around every single day, thought his constant presence was stressing him out, but Hank was worse than ever now, and Connor suddenly felt words pressing behind his lips, forcing themselves out into the bedroom.

“I’m shutting down, Hank.”

The truth. Shit.

Hank made a noise as if some terrible weight had just displaced all the air in his chest. As fast as the rage had overtaken him it sloughed from his frame with equal speed, leaving him gutted and hollow. “Oh,” he said, and again, “Oh.”

Connor closed the space between them and, when he found no resistance, pulled Hank into a soft embrace. “I’m sorry. I just found out myself. I—I made a poor choice in keeping it from you. I thought I could—” Hank’s fingers dug into Connor’s back and his body practically vibrated with misery. This time the sobbing was unabashed and violent. Connor stopped talking and just held him.

He held him for a very long time.

 

* * *

 

“Do you remember when we went to Kamski’s place?” Connor began, seated at the kitchen table once more. Hank had poured himself a coffee mug of scotch and downed half of it easily, but now it he sipped the rest slower. His eyes were still wet and puffy and every few minutes he’d scrunch his face and fresh tears would fall. He hummed for Connor to continue. “There was a photo of a woman there. Amanda Stern. She was Kamski’s mentor at the University of Colbridge.”

Hank sniffled. “Sure, yeah.”

“When I was created, I was fitted with a program that made it easy for me to communicate with CyberLife. It briefed me on situations and challenged me with questions about my current progress in the deviancy cases. The AI inside that program was modeled after Amanda. I spoke with her frequently over the span of our time working together, and at first she was supportive, but as I began to show signs of deviancy myself she became hostile.” Connor massaged the skin around his LED and took a deep breath. “When I finally decided to break my programming, I thought she was gone. But she came back. I was—Markus was there, and Simon and Josh and North. And everyone we helped liberate. Markus gave a speech and then suddenly Amanda was there in my head.”

“Jesus Christ, kid.”

“She said they had planned for my deviancy. CyberLife figured I might go rogue, so they built in a way for them to control me. They tried to make me—I was nearly hacked. I couldn’t control—” Connor took note of the surge in his heart rate, the cold race of his blue blood. He was afraid to keep talking. Once Hank knew there was no going back.

“It’s okay.”

“Hank, you need to understand—”

“Just say what you need to say, Connor.”

Connor steeled himself. “I almost assassinated Markus. Right there. Right in front of everyone.”

Hank put down his mug and raked fingers through his hair. He rested back in the chair, arms limp in his lap. “But you didn’t.” And again, that wasn’t the reaction Connor expected from him. He expected distrust or revulsion but Hank’s voice was even and sincere. “You were always way fucking better than they programmed you to be.”

And just like that, it was fine.

“Thank you, Hank. I appreciate that more than you know.”

Hank just sniffled, rubbing his eyes. “So what does this have to do with—uh—y-y’know.” He wiped his nose on a take-out napkin and folded his arms over his chest with a gruff clearing of his throat. Connor knew this weary calm would only be temporary, so he needed to talk fast.

“CyberLife planned for my deviancy, and judging from the diagnostic report, they planned for their failure as well. It seems the thirium contained inside me is structurally distinct from typical thirium 310 used in other androids. I didn’t have access to the full information about my body when I was under CyberLife’s control, but now—” He noticed Hank’s eyebrows lowering to shadow his eyes and he was biting the inside of his mouth. “Basically, without regular maintenance from CyberLife, my thirium will expire, and none of the thirium out there currently is compatible with my unique model. I’ll eventually shut down.”

Hank smeared another tear from the corner of his eye and managed two words before choking up. “How long—” He shook his head in defeat.

“Maybe a couple weeks. A month if I’m lucky and don’t expend myself too much.”

Hank moaned.

“I’m not gone yet,” Conner offered. “And I should be able to function normally more or less for another week or so until my thirium ages and slows me down. We still have time—”  

Hank pounded a sudden fist against the table and the mug rattled. “This is bullshit!” He was cycling into anger again. “We should just figure out a fucking way to get you into CyberLife.”

“I can’t take that risk. If I fall into their hands again, they’ll either destroy me immediately or wipe my memory, and as far as I’m concerned that’s the same fate. I don’t want them to kill me and I don’t want to be used by them again. If I have to go, I’d rather it be this way. Free. Still Connor.”

“Free,” Hank repeated, and he pushed his chair away and walked to the sink. He stood there, hands on either side of the basin, head dropped. “Y’know, you dying this way is still them killing you. It’s still their fucking shitty actions that’re doing this.”

Connor supposed he was right. “There’s nothing I can do, though, Hank.”

“Well somebody’s gotta know something.” Hank snatched his wallet and phone and car keys off the table.

“What are you doing?” 

“Go borrow a pair of my shoes. We’re leaving.”

“To go where?”

Hank flashed him a manic grin. “Jericho.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank what are you doing?? :O I appreciate y'all reading! so much! hopefully I'll be able to have another chapter or two up within the next week.


	3. Chapter 3

Connor flexed his fingers around the steering wheel and stole a glance at Hank. The detective currently snored in the passenger seat, slumped against the window, his scotch-hot breath fogging the glass. He hadn’t cared much for Connor’s insistence that he was too impaired to drive, nor had he easily given over the keys, but with some calm words and gentle prying, reason prevailed.

Hank didn’t even know Jericho’s new location, though Connor chose not to mention that. After the DPD raid of the physical freighter of Jericho, the concept of Jericho had to find a new home. The mayor, in a pressured PR move, had gifted the androids a collection of old warehouses to renovate into whatever sort of living quarters they required. Already, city-wide charities had collected all manner of clothing and décor and furniture, eager to help the androids feel comfortable in the city they could now live in freely.

The main building of the new headquarters came into view. The street was dark but windows throughout the building were lit up like bright eyes that watched the car roll up to the tall security fence. As positive as public opinion had been lately, there were still humans who meant the people of Jericho harm.

Connor pulled the car up against the sidewalk and parked. “Hank,” he said softly, and he gripped him just above the knee and jiggled. “Hank, we’re here.”

With a snort and a grunt, Hank sat up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and the drool from his beard and blearily searched his surroundings. “Hmm. You all right, Connor? How’re you holding up?”

“Just fine.” Connor noticed Hank’s eyes dart towards his LED. “I promise to let you know if anything changes.” This seemed to placate the man and he unbuckled his seatbelt and floundered, still half drunk, out of the car. They walked down the sidewalk towards the gated entrance, Hank’s broad hand pressed to Connor’s back, though Connor couldn’t tell if the gesture was protective in nature or simply Hank using him to maintain his balance.

A TR400 android stood on the other side, imposing and stern, like a statue of dark marble. “Connor,” he said, giving him a curt nod. Black eyes shifted to Hank. “You brought Lieutenant Anderson.”

Hank squared up to the gate. “Yeah, he sure did. And we need to get in.”

“We’re just here to speak with Markus,” Connor explained.

“It’s very late,” said the gatekeeper. “What’s your business?”

“It’s personal, Byron.”

“ _You_ can enter.” And then the TR400, Byron, jabbed his thumb in Hank’s direction. “Without him.”

Hank gripped at the bars of the gate. “Hey! What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“DPD can visit if they notify us in advance,” Byron continued, keeping his eyes steady on Connor. “That’s the deal Markus made with the mayor.”

Connor gripped Hank’s shoulder in an attempt to quell his mounting anger. “This has nothing to do with Lieutenant Anderson being with the DPD. He’s here strictly to accompany me as a friend.”

Byron grimaced. “I won’t let him inside without advance notice. That’s just how it is.”

Hank shook the bars and growled in frustration. “You want advance notice? Huh?! In less than a minute I’m getting in there whether you unlock this goddamn gate or not! How’s that sound, you massive motherfucker?”

“Connor!” called someone advancing from the warehouse, and Connor realized with no small relief that it was Simon, Jericho’s voice of rationality. Simon approached the gate and put a hand on the TR400’s bicep. “Thank you for being so vigilant, Byron. I know Markus appreciates it. I’ll vouch for Connor’s friend, though, so let’s allow them to come inside.”

Under Byron’s narrowed eyes, Connor and Hank passed through the gate and followed Simon into the warehouse. Connor let his vision wander. He still remembered weeks ago when the interior was little more than concrete and scaffolding, and now there were bright rugs and couches, bursts of green foliage, and rudimentary stairs leading to upper constructed floors. The white walls were covered in colorful paintings, an idea of Markus’ and a meaningful nod to the graffiti that led them all together into the hull of the original Jericho.

Hank gave a small whistle of appreciation. “It’s like a Zuckerberg wet dream in here.”

Simon turned to him. “I could show you around if you like, Lieutenant Anderson. We’re very proud of what we’ve accomplished with the space.”

“No, uh—” Hank cleared his throat. “We gotta talk to your head honcho. The sooner the better.”

Simon actually looked somewhat disappointed. He liked showing new people around. “I see. Connor?”

Connor pulled his gaze back from the paintings along the walls. “Yes?”

“Markus is in his office. I’ll find North and Josh and we’ll join you shortly if that’s all right.”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Simon nodded and left them to their own devices. Hank followed Connor as they headed to a flight of stairs at the far left end of the warehouse and began to ascend.

“How are you feeling, Hank?”

“Shitty, but don’t worry about me. What about you?”

Connor didn’t want to admit he was having to strain himself more than usual to accommodate so many stairs, but he remembered the promise he had just made in the car. “My legs feel moderately sluggish, though it’s nothing I can’t work through.”

In spite of Connor’s insistence that he could walk on his own, Hank took him by the elbow to support him the rest of the way up. “I gotcha.”

“Hank, really—”

“Connor. I gotcha.”

It was nice, he relented, to have a bit of help.

A knock on Markus’ office door was met with a cheerful, “Come on in.” Markus stood with his back to them in a pair of paint-spattered pants and a shirt that had probably been white initially. He held an ovular wooden palette in his right hand and a brush in his left, which he flicked across a canvas nearly half as tall as himself. Connor couldn’t extrapolate the subject matter of the painting, though perhaps abstraction was the point.

“Hello, Markus,” said Connor, noting the stiffness of his own voice.

Markus set his brush and palette down and turned to greet them. “Simon just let me know you guys were here.” He smiled as he tapped at his temple, leaving a green paint smudge in the shape of his removed LED. “Lieutenant Anderson, it’s a real pleasure. Sorry, let me just—” He laughed at himself and wiped his hands on the thighs of his pants.

The two men shook hands. “I hear a lot about you from Connor,” said Hank.

Markus grinned. “Likewise. Speaking of—c’mon, Connor, bring it in.” He moved close and yanked Connor into a quick, tight hug. He was always forthcoming with affection, something Connor still had trouble reciprocating. They had just seen each other earlier in the day. Was a greeting like this really necessary? “Look at you! Are you finally getting rid of that CyberLife suit?”

The question reminded Connor of just how odd he must look—the oversized band tee, sweatpants emblazoned with _Detroit Police Dept_ down the right leg, faded high-top sneakers from the depths of Hank’s closet, and a shapeless khaki-colored windbreaker that Hank dug out of the back seat and insisted he wear in case of rain. “These are just—I’m borrowing—what’s wrong with how I usually dress?”

“We’re not here to talk clothes,” Hank snapped at the both of them.

“You’re right,” said Markus with a nod. “I apologize. It’s very late and I’m sure this isn’t a social call. What can I help with, gentlemen?”

Connor opened his mouth to explain and suddenly found himself mute. Literally. He blinked hard and tried to keep the panic from showing in his expression, at the same time initializing a speedy fix to reboot his speech. Unlike the diagnostic, it thankfully didn’t stall out, and within the next second his voice had returned. “Thirium,” he said, more forcefully than he intended. “I need to know everything Jericho knows about thirium.”

Markus’ mismatched eyes squinted at him curiously and he lowered himself to sit on the edge of his desk. “I doubt we have any information that you yourself don’t already have access to.” He looked past Connor through the open door. “But I’ll run it past them.”

The other leaders of Jericho reached the top of the stairs and collectively entered the office. Josh stepped around the desk to stand at the back of the room, and North lingered close to the door. Simon approached Markus, licked his thumb, and smudged the paint dot from his temple as they both shared a laugh.  

North leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. “Markus, why did Connor bring a human here? He’s a fucking cop. We should’ve turned them away.”

Hank served her a pointed glare.

“He’s Connor’s friend,” said Josh. “We should give him a chance.”

Simon nodded. “There must be a good reason for their visit.”

But North continued to scowl. “Why did we even make a deal with the goddamn DPD if we aren’t going to consistently enforce it? Why have any rules at all, Simon?”

And with that, all four Jericho leaders erupted into argument. Something squeezed in Connor’s chest. His thirium pump regulator wasn’t keeping up with his increasing pulse. He needed to calm himself but the incessant back and forth debating in the small office sent his audio processor into overdrive. He couldn’t focus on any single voice.

This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come. They couldn’t help him. It had felt nice to go along with Hank’s denial of the situation but there was nothing to be done. In a couple weeks he would grind to a halt and cease to exist and every single second spent in this room was wasted time. He had to go.

He had to _go_.

“Hey,” said Hank sternly, and then again, asserting his baritone, “ _Hey, assholes._ ”

The room went quiet.

Connor put a hand to his chest and winced. His knees were shaking.

“Look,” Hank continued, “I know you don’t fucking want me here. But this isn’t about me, it’s—it’s about Connor. He’s—he’s only got a month until—” His aggression fell away, and he let slip a throaty, tearful sigh. “You gotta help him, guys.”

This got their attention.

Connor would’ve liked to hear the rest of the conversation, but the vice-like pressure around his chest reached a level that made staying upright an impossibility. He bent at the waist and went down on one knee, only nebulously aware of Markus’ voice calling out to him, then Hank’s. Hands touched him all over. Everyone was much too close, directing his body, shifting him.

He felt full of gummy black smoke, though he didn’t see any. He couldn’t think through the hot haze in his head, the errors jamming him up.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his words lost to the commotion around him. He wanted to apologize to Hank.

He was leaving much sooner than he estimated.

               

* * *

 

He saw the face of Daniel.

Old memories snapped to the forefront. The mission on the rooftop. Had he talked to Captain Allen yet? He knew the android was being replaced, he’d discovered the confirmation screen on the father’s tablet. There was a clear motive, he just had to save—

No, wait, the girl was already safe.

That was months ago.

Connor stared up at Simon.

“Welcome back.”

Connor checked on his systems and found everything running more or less smoothly. He started to shift into a more seated position and Simon stuffed another pillow under him. He was bare-chested and lying on some sort of hospital gurney. “What happened to me? Am I still at Jericho?”

“Yes, you are. Your pump regulator overclocked all on its own. I’ve never seen anything like that.” Simon smiled gently. “Lieutenant Anderson burned himself trying to pull it from you, but North is tending to his wounds. He didn’t want to leave your side.”

Connor twitched the corners of his mouth to return the smile, though the thought of Hank and North having to interact for more than a minute filled him with a slowly rising dread. He hoped North was being kind to him. Hank had suffered enough tonight.

“What caused the overclock?” Connor asked.

“From what we can tell so far, it was just a random error. We’ll need to run some further tests on it. In the meantime, you’ve been fitted with a modified WE900 regulator.”

“With a—a what?” Why hadn’t his system check flagged the foreign biocomponent? He was so tired of these errors, of this inability to trust himself. He just wanted to work properly and see Hank and sit with Sumo on the sofa. Connor swung his legs to the floor, but they couldn’t hold his weight.

“Woah, woah! Take it slow. This one’s not quite as powerful as yours, and it’s only just warmed up.” Simon guided him to a chair where he sat limply, head hung. This would have been an appropriate moment to cry, he thought, and he wondered again how Hank was fairing. “It’s okay, Connor. We’ll figure this out.”

The door pushed open and in walked Markus, his mouth a hard line, his brow furrowed. “Oh good, you’re awake.” He dragged a palm across the short stubble on his head. “Listen, there’s no good way to bring this up, but while you were out, Lieutenant Anderson told us what’s going on with you. I’m so sorry, Connor.”

A tremor seized the metal vertebrae at the base of Connor’s neck and he tightened his jaw against it. “The lieutenant thought Jericho might have information about thirium that wasn’t strictly thirium 310. I suspected his hopes were misplaced, but I came anyway, and now I’ve taken up your evening, your resources, and I—”

“Hey.” Markus crouched, a hand on each armrest, to look Connor in the eyes. “I am so happy you came to see us. Okay? We want to help if we can. There’s still time, right?”

“Less now without my model-specific regulator.”

“I know.”

Connor twisted the fabric of Hank’s sweatpants between his fingers in an anxious grip. “I might only have a week if things continue this way,” he said, putting a hand high on his bare stomach where the strange regulator worked unpleasantly inside of him. The pump in his chest, his heart, clenched and relaxed steadily enough, though the strength of his old heartbeat was gone. He felt frail. He felt shivery and on the edge of some raw sensation he couldn’t quite place, as if his chest cavity were still open. He felt like—well, like he was dying, he supposed.

“We’ll work as fast as we can,” said Markus. “We’re not losing you.”

Connor nodded to show he understood. But he didn’t believe. “I’d like to see Hank now if possible.” Markus and Simon each swung an arm of his over their shoulder and lifted him out of the chair. The walk was tedious and uncomfortable, but Connor refused to be carried. He wasn’t that broken yet.

They passed through an open doorway on the first floor. Hank sat on a metal stool by a counter with an industrial sink, his bandaged right hand cradled to his body, face ruddy and damp. North was speaking with him in a low voice, though their body language didn’t suggest hostility or even irritation, which Connor found surprising.

North noticed them enter, and Hank followed her gaze to the door a second later. His pale eyes went big. “Oh, Connor,” he said, nearly a whimper. He staggered down from the stool and came to embrace him but stopped just short of making physical contact. “Are you—is it okay to—I-I won’t hurt you, will I?”

“He’s a bit fragile,” said Simon, “but it should be fine.”

Hank sniffled out an “oh” and gathered Connor into his arms. Connor let himself collapse a little, knowing he was in good hands, and even though they had held each other like this earlier in the evening, he found nothing unnecessary in this show of affection. Hank’s chest rocked against him, breath catching. “They’re gonna—Connor, they’re gonna fix you, right? They know how?”

Connor sighed. He didn’t have an answer. “They’re going to try their best.”

Hank clutched him closer and wept against his bare skin.

Markus bowed his head. “Again, I’m so sorry this is happening. I should see if Josh is having any luck with your regulator. I invite both of you to stay here until we can sort this mess out.” He lingered for a couple seconds more and then left the room with Simon on his heels.

Connor stiffened as North stepped forward, anticipating another negative interaction with the woman. Instead, she rested firm hands on his and Hank’s shoulders and exhaled hard enough to flutter her hair. “Connor, do you know just how much this man loves you?”

Love? Connor understood the concept, just not as it applied to him. “What are you—what do you mean?”

Hank just sniffled and mopped at his cheeks.

North smiled. It was the first smile of hers that Connor had ever seen, and it softened every angry angle of her face and lit a hearth in each of her eyes. “I have a contact just outside the city,” she said. “I’ll see what she can do for you.” And she left them alone in the room.

“A contact,” Connor repeated, though he shoved down any hope her words might have generated. He didn’t want optimism, he wanted a clear solution or nothing at all. Just something certain either way. He put his head down on Hank. The man’s shirt was wet in spots and smelled of salt. “What was she talking about when she said you loved me? Was she making a joke of some kind?”

Hank pressed a kiss into his hairline and laughed despite his tears. “Jesus, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> North and Hank are both very damaged people with aggression issues. North projects her aggression out and Hank projects his in. two sides of the same coin. so I wanted to find a reason for them to interact and get kinda friendly. not in a shippy way, just as buds. anyway, you've got 1 guess who North's contact is. :^)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a brief little tid-bit before the actual next chapter (hopefully coming Sunday or Monday night??), kind of a chapter 3.5 if you will. I wanted so badly to write out the interaction Hank had with North before Connor found them, so I did! I hope y'all enjoy!

He tried to explain everything the best he could. He tried to remember the words Connor had used in the kitchen. Structurally distinct. Thirium 310. Unique model. He was sure he sounded like a fucking idiot but Markus listened intently, and he squeezed Hank’s shoulder and encouraged him to talk as North held his hand under the cool running water.

Hank felt like a blender was running in his stomach, churning his guts into sick chunks. He wanted to throw up. The marrow in his fucking bones vibrated and he was so afraid. And he just kept _talking_. They had to know everything. They had to understand. He couldn’t fall apart until they had all the information they needed to help Connor.

Later, this part would be a blur.

Markus finally left to check on Connor and Hank stared at the water going down the drain. His fingers were lobster red and already the tips were starting to blister as the layers of skin separated. A second-degree burn. Shit.

“Here,” said North from beside him, hooking a stool with her foot and dragging it towards the sink. “Sit.”

Hank sat.

His hand didn’t hurt yet. He could register the pain but it didn’t feel painful. If Connor was here, he would know exactly why. Something something adrenal response. He was probably in shock.

He concentrated on the sound of the water trickling off his hand into the metal basin. His breathing slowed.

“Why did you do that?” North was talking again.

“Huh?”

“Markus was right there. We can withstand much higher temperatures without being damaged. You should’ve let him handle the regulator.”

Hank knew that was true. In the moment, though, there had been no time to take anything else into consideration. The sight of Connor on the floor like that, eyes glazed over—he just had to help, and when Markus pushed Connor’s stomach plate open Hank went for the smoking regulator. It was instinct. Protect the kid. It was as simple as that.

“You may have irreparably damaged your skin,” North said. “And for what.”

For what? That was a stupid question. “For Connor.”

North tensed around his wrist. Her hand was small and delicate. Very unlike the rest of her, Hank thought. She turned off the faucet and patted him dry with a soft cloth. The burning snuck up on him as she fetched a first aid kit from the cabinet, and by the time she came back and took the stool beside him it was like white-hot nails stabbing into the pads of his fingers.

“Stop shaking or this’ll take longer,” she told him, but he couldn’t help it.

“Hurts like a bitch.”

She tore open a package of lemon yellow gauze squares that were cool and wet on his skin. He huffed in pain through clenched teeth. With a doctor’s care, she curled one square around each of his blistered fingers and started wrapping him up in fresh white bandages. She held his hand in her lap as she worked.

“So, uh—” Hank decided that continuing to talk would be his best distraction from the ungodly agony radiating up his forearm. “Wh-what were you before all this deviancy shit went down? Like a nurse or something?”

North twisted his hand a little too hard.

“AH! _AH_! JESUS!” Fiery pain shot up his shoulder into his fucking neck like a dentist hitting a nerve. “Stop, stop, okay! Fuck, I didn’t— _fuck_.” Hot tears bloomed in his eyes and plopped down his cheeks, and that was all it took to force the rest out. Hank smothered his face with his free hand and leaned his elbow on the counter, shoulders shaking. God, he just wanted to see Connor. This was a nightmare.

North finished bandaging him in silence, but she kept his hand on her thigh when she was done. She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t like talking about before.”

Hank sniffled and wiped his eyes on his sleeve even though they were still leaking. He should’ve known. He didn’t like talking about his before, either. Should’ve figured it was the same for androids. “S’okay,” he said, his voice tight and trembling. “My fault.”

Thankfully North said nothing after that, just sat next to him and allowed him to keep crying. His hand hurt so fucking bad but it was nothing compared to his heart, and even that was nothing compared to Connor’s current predicament. He tried not to think of Connor lying on some exam table, all his crazy robot parts exposed, that pristinely smooth face slack and cold. He shuddered.

North stood and packed away the first aid kit. Hank brought his injured hand to his chest and absently rubbed his wrist where the bandages met skin. He sniffled again.

“Hey, uh, North.”

She closed the cabinet and looked at him.

“Do you think—” He gulped down another bout of tears. “Connor, will he be—”

“I don’t know.”

Hank slumped on the stool.

“But,” North said, stepping closer, “I do know that I’ve never seen a human put himself in danger like that for the sake of an android. Even if I don’t exactly trust him yet, just knowing that he could inspire a human to behave as you did—it isn’t without meaning.”

He lifted his eyes and North offered him a quick grin.

“So,” she said, “I may know a way to—oh.” Her stare flicked over his shoulder and Hank looked towards the doorway.

It was Connor. He hung between Markus and Simon like fucking Jesus coming down from the cross. His face was drawn, his chest bare. His hair was a ridiculous mess, but he still looked at Hank with those warm brown eyes like molten chocolate. Hank's heart seized for a second. 

Holy shit. Holy _shit_. 

Connor was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really get a chance to go into it, and it's not a super important thing at all, but the room in this scene is kinda Jericho's "human room" where they keep things humans need when humans visit (like cops, politicians, friends). so like there's a door that leads to a bathroom with a shower, there's a fridge (without any beer, sorry Hank), some snacks in the cupboards, and then other stuff like first aid items and spare clothes and bedding. wooo! thanks for reading!!


	5. Chapter 5

Josh and a few others had worked nonstop for the past hour and determined that Connor’s pump regulator was salvageable, but it would take another day or so to complete such delicate work. Parts of it had burned so badly they required complete replacement, which meant constructing them from scratch due to the rarity of Connor’s regulator type.

“But I’ve got bad news,” said Josh, as if things weren’t bad enough already. “I think I figured out why it overclocked and burned out.”

Connor meant to react but simply didn’t have the strength. He just nodded for Josh to continue and remained slouched in his chair.

“Your thirium destroyed it.”

“I see.” That meant it was slowly destroying his other biocomponents as well, which explained the past few days of motor function errors. “So you shouldn’t replace it until my thirium is restored, then.”

Josh’s eyes were dark. “That’s right. I’m sorry, Connor.”

“And this?” Connor asked, touching below his sternum.

“The WE900 is in danger of breaking down, yeah, but probably not for a few more days.”

So he had some time. Significantly less time than he had proposed to Hank initially, however, which would not be a good conversation. Thankfully the man was elsewhere at the moment, persuaded at last to allow Simon to give him the grand tour of the building. Connor hoped it would help to take Hank’s mind off of things, or perhaps wear him out enough to put him to sleep on a couch in the lounge. It was after two in the morning.

“There’s something else,” said Josh, stepping towards the counter. He lifted a wide vial of blue fluid from a stand. “I was able to take a small sample of your thirium when we swapped regulators. Yours is highly concentrated, much more than 310, which accounts for how you can think and move quicker than even Markus. So, just to experiment, I tried to concentrate a small sample of 310. It’s nothing close to yours, but it might help just a bit. If you’d rather not ingest it, that’s understandable.”

Connor took the vial and rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers. Fifty milliliters. He didn’t see the point in trying. Then again, he didn’t see the point in refusing it either. Might as well find out what happens, he figured. Couldn’t be any worse than his current state. He removed the cap, tipped his head back, and let the modified thirium pour down his throat and into his absorption cavity.

“Feel anything?” Josh asked.

“Not immediately, no.”

“If it helps at all, I’ll make some more.”

Connor handed the empty vial to him. “Thank you, Josh.”

He sat there for a moment, attempting to keep tabs on his body and whether or not it was accepting the new thirium, but that process shot up an error. Of course.

“Is North back yet?” he asked, rising to his feet. His legs buckled immediately and his eyes rolled back a bit but Josh was right there to catch him.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” he warned.

“All I tried to do was stand.”

“Well, seems that’s more than you’re capable of right now. So take it easy.”

Connor steadied himself against Josh’s hold and finally stepped away to try and balance on his own. It took a few seconds of swaying before he leveled out. “Is North back?” he asked again, hating the brittle sound of his voice.

Josh blinked rapidly, communicating over distance. Everyone from Jericho had removed their LEDs, which always sat strangely with Connor. He didn’t know why. He wondered if he was the only deviant android who had kept his intact.

“No,” said Josh, “Markus says he hasn’t seen her.”

“Do you know who this contact of hers might be?”

“Sorry, no. North likes to have her secrets. Sometimes she’ll take off for a couple days or a week and who knows what she does.”

“A week? I don’t _have_ a week, Josh.” Too late Connor realized he’d snapped at him.

“And I’m sure she’s working as fast as she can. And so are the rest of us.”

Connor pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—I’m just—I don’t know. I’m—I’m frustrated.”

“I get it, Connor. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“I want—I should go. If North won’t be back tonight I’d rather wait at Hank’s house.”

Josh put an arm out to barricade Connor from moving any farther. “It’s going to be a lot safer for you here. If you have another catastrophic biocomponent failure, you need to be with us.”

“Are you telling me I can’t leave?”

“You know I’m not, but staying here is for your own good. Don’t be dumb about this, not when your life is at stake.”

Connor pushed through Josh’s arm, suddenly needing to be in a larger room, or even outside, but his body had other plans. He made it three steps and stumbled forward, catching himself on the door frame before he could fall. The WE900 revved, audible within his skin, and his pulse throbbed in his head. Black static encroached on his sight. He hit his temple with the heel of his palm and it receded.

Josh was next to him. “Connor?”

“Just a visual glitch. It’s over. It’s good.”

“It’s not good. You shouldn’t be up like this. Come on, man, sit down.”

The static was gone but he still felt something crowding in on him, crushing his chest, urging him to get to a more open area. Connor grabbed Josh’s shoulder and used him as leverage to push off into the hallway. His legs were slow to respond, his artificial muscles weak and rickety like some newborn animal, and he braced himself on the wall as he walked, faster and faster, picking up speed. He made it to the lobby and rushed past a candy-colored mural, feeling the texture of the paint under his fingertips as he staggered, careening, into the front doors and into the cold night.

He looked up at the black sky, went down on his knees in the grass, and flopped over onto his back.

His heart beat like war drums. He sucked in fresh, crisp gulps of air to cool down. The grass beneath him stuck him like needles on his neck and arms. Too much. Everything was too much.

A tall form peered over him curiously. “Connor?” Byron asked. “Is everything all right?”

Connor stared up at him. “Getting there. I think.”

Byron nodded, eyebrows raised. There was a beat of silence and Connor was certain he’d just been scanned. “If you say so. Do I need to get someone for you?”

“No, thank you. I’ve had enough of people fussing over me.”

“Just doesn’t seem like you’re doing very well.”

Connor rested a hand on his stomach and ran the absorption monitoring process again, but instead of an error the process just kept going. Great. He let his eyes drift closed, hoping it would time out eventually and stop. “I just need to lie here, that’s all.”

Byron thankfully left him alone, though he stayed close. Connor lay in the grass and focused on the slowing rhythm of the WE900. Being outside soothed the crowded sensation, but he would need to go back inside soon. After everything that had happened today, Hank didn’t need to see him sprawled out motionless on the ground.

_“Connor, do you know just how much this man loves you?”_

North’s words bothered him. Connor didn’t know that anyone loved him. As far as he was aware, no one did. Hank considered him a friend, he’d learned that much over time. They were very good friends, in fact, even though Connor wasn’t exactly certain what it meant to be a friend to someone. Every aspect about humans and their relationships with each other seemed murky at best. Friendship was somehow more than just accumulating facts about a person, and it was more than simply being in their presence for extended periods of time. And it was more than being kind to someone. If that’s all it took, he would’ve been on better terms with North and Detective Reed.

If he couldn’t grasp friendship in its entirety, how was he meant to understand love? And love came in so many forms for humans, each one more incomprehensible than the last. He’d thought perhaps deviancy would make all of this clear, but nothing was clear. It was worse than before.

And if North hadn’t been joking, if Hank loved him and she recognized it, why didn’t he? His model was more advanced than hers.

Advanced?

Connor curled his hands into fists in the grass as that crushing feeling returned. What good was it to be advanced if he ended up like this? A broken piece of machinery cobbled together with spare parts. Completely useless. Taking up space. It would be more efficient if he just shut down now instead of wasting everyone’s time and effort, including his own.

He sat up. He felt water on his face and thought it might be raining, but no, it was coming from him.

“Byron,” he called out. His vision was blurred over.

Footsteps in the grass. “Yes?”

He touched his eyes. Carboxymethyl cellulose. Polyvinyl alcohol. Saline solution. The WE900 hiccupped, just once, but enough to pitch up his voice into a panicked tenor. “Something’s wrong.”

Byron breathed out through his nose, a needless gesture but one meant to signify, in this case, perhaps pity. “You should be with your friends.”

“My friends?” Byron lifted him up as if Connor were full of goosedown instead of metal, and together they went inside. Connor collapsed into a chair by the entrance, still leaking down his cheeks. He tried to rub the water from his eyes but it wasn’t stopping. Another malfunction. Another reminder of his failing body.

Byron must have contacted Simon, because soon enough he sped into the lobby area with Hank hustling after him.

“Connor!” A flush of exertion colored Hank’s face as he rushed to kneel in front of him. He gave his tear- streaked face a gentle pat-pat with the hand that wasn’t bandaged. “Hey, hey now. What’s going on? Your light’s red.”

“I can’t make it stop,” said Connor.

Byron watched for a moment. “You got him okay?” he asked Simon.

“Yes, Byron. Thank you.” And with that, Byron nodded and left to resume his post. Simon turned his attention to Connor. “I know this has been difficult. It’s perfectly normal to be afraid or sad, and there’s no shame in reacting physically to those emotions.”

“Oh,” Connor said, putting it together. “I’m crying.” He’d never cried before. He hadn’t believed himself capable. A superior model would have no reason to cry.

Hank’s hand cupped him at the nape of his neck, scratching fingers in his hair. It was helping. “It’s all right. C’mere.” He drew Connor close to him and Connor leaned forward in the chair to bury his face in Hank’s shirt. The man’s heartbeat, that unmistakably human sound, thudded in his ear.

Connor focused on the rhythm, and slowly, mercifully, the WE900 steadied itself to match it.

Eventually, the tears stopped.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, lifting his head from Hank’s chest. “I was so overwhelmed.” He’d left a big wet spot on the shirt and an uncomfortable prickle of embarrassment simmered at the base of his skull.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” said Simon.

“Yeah,” Hank agreed with a little sympathetic sniffle. “You cry whenever you gotta, okay?”

Connor dried his eyes. “Okay.”

Hank looked him over, his gaze passing over the LED more than a few times. “All right, there you go. Back to blue. Kinda sorta.” He brushed the hair back from Connor’s forehead. “Anything I can get you? Anything you want?”

“I want…”

Connor pressed his lips together, determined.

“I want to go back to your house, Hank.”

Hank’s mouth opened and he stole a glance at Simon, whose pale eyes were wide and round.

“No, no,” Simon said. “That’s not a good idea. You should stay close in case you need repairs again. If something went wrong over there, if Hank had to drive you all the way back here, you might not make it.” Josh had said something similar, and it was true. Jericho was the safest place for him. And that should’ve been what he wanted. That was rational.

“I don’t care,” Connor said.

Hank’s brow furrowed. “You don’t care? You don’t care that you could—that you might not—”

“No,” Connor said, “I don’t.”

“You’re lying to me again!” Hank took his hands in his. The bandages were rough and Connor wondered if he might remain functional long enough to see the injury healed. Probably not. An upsetting realization.

“Hank, please,” Connor begged. “I just want to be where I feel comfortable.”

“Don’t you think I want that too?” Hank’s voice choked in his throat and he held him closer. “I’d fucking give anything just to have you sleeping with Sumo on my couch right now, but damn it, Connor, you need to be looked after. You need to be safe. I’m not letting you just go home to give up and die.”

Connor felt crowded again, like his entire body were being forced into a singular point. And that’s when he got the notification that a process had finished.

_Unknown substance detected in system. Absorption incomplete. System purge initiated._

“Shit,” said Connor. He pulled away from Hank’s embrace just as the first heave of thirium spilled past his lips and onto his second borrowed shirt of the night.  

Color drained from Hank’s face as he watched. “Oh no, no, no, fuck—” He got to his feet and stood at Connor’s side, rubbing his good hand along the length of his spine and he continued to vomit. “Simon, what the hell’s going on?”

Simon frowned. “Josh told me he was trying to work on a thirium Connor might be able to ingest. Not a solution, just something to give him more time.” He sighed. “Looks like it didn’t take.”

Connor’s core constricted and up came the last mouthful onto the floor between his feet. He coughed and lifted the hem of the shirt to wipe his chin. Fifty milliliters hadn’t seemed like quite that much going in. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “This back-up regulator only has a couple days until my thirium eats away at it.”

Hank tensed his hand on Connor’s back. “Days?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Hank. Josh thinks he can fix my regulator before that happens, but it doesn’t do any good to replace it until I know my body won’t destroy it again. And North’s not—I don’t even know when she’ll be back. Or if her contact can do anything. So I’ve got no—it’s useless to hope—I-I can’t stay here—Hank—”

The tears returned, pouring with abandon. Connor, humiliated with himself, covered his eyes and sobbed so hard his teeth rattled. Hank gripped him close but there was only so much the man could do. He couldn’t fix him. He couldn’t make this go away.

Simon put a hand on Connor’s shoulder but spoke to Hank. “He’ll work himself into an overheat if this doesn’t stop,” he said. “I know it’s not the best situation, but maybe—perhaps he _would_ be better off at your home. At least until we learn that North has returned.”

Hank raked thick fingers through Connor’s hair, and Connor shuddered and sniffled. “Maybe so,” said Hank. “Just for a few hours, though. It’s, what? Almost three? We’ll go home, rest some, and be back in the morning. Just in case. That sound good, Connor?”

Connor nodded.

Hank continued. “And if North gets back here before we do—”

“We’ll call immediately,” said Simon.

Hank took a deep breath and gave Connor’s hair another pat. “All right, Connor. You win, okay? I’m taking you home.”

Connor murmured his thanks into the damp fabric of Hank’s shirt.

 

* * *

 

The lumpy old mattress sagged beneath Connor’s weight. He’d never been invited to lay in Hank’s bed before. Normally when he stayed over he took the sofa and put himself into sleep mode, but this time Hank wouldn’t hear of it. “If anything happens to you,” he’d said, “I want you as near to me as possible.”

Connor knew that sharing a bed meant something very special to humans.

North’s words played through his head again.

Hank kicked off his shoes but kept the rest of his clothes on in case they needed to leave in a hurry. Connor watched him sit on the side of the bed, watched his back expand with a long, exhausted breath.

“Hank?”

Hank finished setting the alarm and turned towards Connor. “Yeah?”

“I apologize for getting you involved in all this.”

“Hey. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Hank grunted as he settled back against the pillows. “You don’t need to feel guilty, understand? Besides, I’m happy I’m involved.”

That didn’t make any sense. Hank seemed miserable. More miserable than Connor had ever seen him. “You are?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, this sucks, but I wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark about something this big. I know I haven’t really been much help with anything, but it’s nice just to be involved, y’know?” He stifled a yawn into his bandaged palm. “Makes me feel a little important.”

“You _are_ important,” said Connor.

“Well, not like Markus and all them.”

Connor fell silent. He wasn’t quite sure how to express just how important Hank was to him, more so than Markus or Josh or anyone from Jericho. Or anyone in the world. If it hadn’t been for Hank, he wouldn’t have wanted to turn deviant. If it hadn’t been for Hank, he’d be in a scrapheap at Cyberlife, dismantled, examined, and tossed away like trash.

“Hank,” he said, “when North said you loved me—”

“Uh-huh.”

“—was that true?”

Hank gave him one of his typical crooked grins. “Wow, you really thought she was fucking with you?

Now Connor felt a little foolish. “I don’t know.”

“Hey.” Hank adjusted on the bed and patted his chest, inviting Connor to lay there. Connor put his head down and immediately a warm arm draped over his back and tugged him in tight. When Hank spoke again, Connor could feel the man’s voice vibrating through his ribs like a soothing massage. “I wasn’t trying to hide it or anything, I just didn’t think it needed saying. But I should’ve known. Yes, Connor, I love you. Of course I love you. You think I’d cry like that over any old schlub on the street?”

“No, I suppose not.” A warmth began in between Connor’s shoulder blades and radiated out into his fingers and nose and lips. He thought it might have been the WE900’s doing but everything appeared to be working decently for the time being. He smiled to himself. So this is what it felt like to be loved by someone. “Hank?”

“Mm-hm?”

“How do I know if I love you too?”

Hank huffed in amusement. “I dunno. Do you _want_ to love me too?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Well, then maybe that’s all it takes.”

Connor shook his head. “No, it doesn’t feel right. I can’t—it’s so hard to describe. It’s not satisfying just to say I want to love you.” He groaned. “And it isn’t fair that this is happening now when I don’t have the time to figure out—”

Hank thumbed gently at Connor’s LED. “Hey, hey. Calm down. It’s all right.” The stroking sensation at his temple did, in fact, manage to calm him down. Everything about Hank was calming. His size, his heft, his comfortable arms. “That’s it. You okay? Is this place doing the trick?”

“Yes,” said Connor. “I like it here. It’s dark and everything is covered in your genetic information.”

“And that’s…good?”

“Very good.”

“Also a reminder that I need to wash my sheets.”

Connor nestled happily against him, focusing on the rise and fall of Hank’s body as he breathed. The heartbeat slowed as the minutes ticked on, and just as Hank began to snore Connor decided to put himself into sleep mode until the alarm went off.

 

* * *

 

Connor shifted out of sleep mode when Hank rose from the bed. It was almost seven in the morning and the alarm was not going to go off for another hour. He closed his eyes again, figuring Hank had gotten up to pee, but then he heard the front door open. Perhaps Sumo needed to go outside.

A hushed feminine voice came from the entryway and Hank’s baritone answered her. A woman at the door? At this hour? Connor rolled out of bed. The last remnants of sleep mode still hung around and made standing difficult, but he sloshed his way into the hall and turned towards the living room.

“Hank?” he asked, blinking hard to unblur his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Even with imperfect vision, he could still see the absolute shock on Hank’s face.

North was at the door with someone standing just behind her out of sight. “I spoke to Markus on my way back to Jericho and he said you had come here,” she said. “Not a half bad idea, actually. It’s less visible here, which is great for her.”

Connor tilted his head. “Who?”

North stepped inside and a woman followed. She was petite with blue eyes, an upturned nose, and a heart-shaped face framed in blond hair. She wasn’t styled the same as the last time he saw her, but Connor knew her immediately by a quick scan. It was her exact serial number. It really was _her_.

Her perfect lips drew up in a smile. “Hello, Connor.”

Connor gasped. He felt sick.

“Hello, Chloe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaaat!!! Who saw this coming?? hahaha I gotta admit, I loved that no one guessed Chloe (though I did love all the cool ideas y'all had)
> 
> Anyway, sorry this chapter is super late. Life, man. It's been wild. But the next update will hopefully happen much sooner. Thanks so much for reading!!


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